WriteHook

It's almost Oscar time again. Are you watching closely?

The Oscar telecast is a three-hour SNL skit from the 80s. And most of the 90s -- a good idea gone horribly, horribly overlong, punctuated by polite applause for limp jokes by people trying not to look like they know they're hot shit.

mm-hmm!

Still, where would we be without the Oscars? (Hint: 1926.) They're the perfect office pool subject between football season and March Madness; and, to the observant scribe, a fantastic lesson in writing.

1. A great start isn't enough. The Academy Awards broadcast is itself a perfect model of the three-act structure -- lavish beginning, creamy middle, and high-note ending. The trouble is, while the beginning and end are usually all right, that 37-hour ordeal between Best Actress and Best Picture would be more fun if you duct taped yourself to another roll of duct tape and hugged a greeter at Wal~Mart.

You need more than bad jokes, drunk presenters, and the occasional crazy-ass redhead to keep things moving in your story.

"Kanye, WOOOOO!"

You also need to know the difference between racing through the dead people just so you can get to the end and being interesting the whole way through.

With apologies to your memories2. Memorable doesn't mean good. Remember when Angelina Jolie tongued her brother? Or when Roberto Begnini thought the best way to celebrate an Oscar for a concentration camp movie was to huff meth and dance on the seats?

Yeah, good times. Writers fall easy victim to trying something outrageous just to make their stories stand out -- shocking violence, tacked on sexual subplots, whatever. But go too far and readers will close you up and put you out in the recycle bin.  I stopped reading Dean Koontz for this very reason. After a while, I remembered how much worse a person I felt like for having endured the horrors in his stories than for the true suspense and solid characters he'd constructed. Which is a shame, because he's a kick-ass writer, with or without the mustache.

They can't all be the Man like Robert Forster3. You need an editor. The Oscars are live, and look what happens to people you thought were cool. Nervous Clint Eastwoods?  Weeping Gwyneth Paltrows? Please!

You know why you thought these people were cool in the first place? Editors. People who trim the incest and the uncomfortably anti-Semitic revelry out of the thing you actually see. Editors keep you from making an ass of yourself. At least until your acceptance speech, when you're on your own.

4. You can rock and suck at the same time. Not everybody's going to get what you do. You could either look at Jack Palance's one-armed pushups and sex jokes as feisty and entertaining or as crass attention-whoring; Sacheen Littlefeather's acceptance of Marlon Brando's Oscar as bold and timely or as idiotic posturing; Jennifer Hudson's obviously unprepared speech as genuine and human or as an embarrassing fiasco.

Hilarious? Or Freakin' Hilarious?

The point is, when you throw yourself out there, in writing or on stage, some people will love what you do and some will hate what you do. Fuck the ones who don't like it. Which leads me to…

5. Critics don't count. Fans count. Embrace the fans. You'll never see Twilight win a Best Picture. But you'll sure as hell see lines outside the theater. Like I've said, some are going to love what you do, some are going to hate it. Know your audience/readership and you will give the people who count what they want most -- you.

"And your bank account is HOW big?"6. Shameless self promotion works. Hollywood loves to stroke itself, and the Oscars -- the entertainment industry putting on an internationally televised pageant to promote the entertainment industry -- is as lubed-up a circle jerk as you can get.

But consider the ratings. Consider how serious journali… ahahahahaha!!!... I'm sorry, I tried to keep a straight face there…. OK, for real this time… how people who play journalists on TV (like Barbara Walters) have spent Oscar Sunday doing interview shows disguised as news features. Consider how many people play office pools and surf the internet for Oscar trivia.

In other words, the rampant narcissism of the entire Oscar pageant achieves an enormous amount of notoriety. It is a shameless, self-congratulatory spectacle that proves that if you want an audience, you need to goddamn go for it, without apology. When it comes to promoting your work, be shameless, be relentless, and be bold. No one cares for your book, your stories, or your articles like you do, so don't be shy when trying to promote your work.

And hey, if you can actually put together a tuxedo-and-unflattering-gown pageant to get the word out, all the better.

Write for the jugular, folks.

This week's blog swap involves my friend, Gregory G. Allen, author of Well with My Soul (which I still promise to read) and Proud Pants (which I did read and it's freakin' excellent). Below, Greg shares with us his thoughts on what it means to be a real indie writer -- in other words, what it's like to be a writer but still have a day job.

My weekly blog, regarding the realities of marketing books through social media, appears on Greg's site, GGAllen.net. You can also check out his writing (and seriously, you should) at Amazon: click here.

By the way, if you haven't already, visit MeeGenius.com and vote for Greg's book, Chicken Boy, The Amazing Adventures of a Superhero with Autism, which Greg is looking to get published. Click Here To Visit the Site.

When people ask me 'what do you do', isn't it strange I still don't say "I'm a writer"? Instead, I talk about my day job. You know - the one that pays the mortgage, the bills, and allows me to be a working writer. 

But just what the heck is a working writer anyways?

Writing is so much more than throwing down a collection of words on a piece of paper. (If only it were that easy.) I've been writing for more than half of my life in one form or another (for stage, the page, and online articles). But even once something is published, the work never stopped. As a working writer, you are constantly ... well - working. 

The list is endless: either attempting your next endeavor, writing a blog, 'working' the social media angle by engaging others in conversations while slyly attempting to promote your book, reading other author's books, writing reviews of those books, writing testimonials for another author (because it really is about 'paying it forward' and doing what you can for another indie author), attending book signings and/or speaking engagements, attending conferences to meet other people who are doing exactly what you're doing (got to actually see Scott face-to-face at one of those), marketing, marketing, marketing ... and oh yes that day job that pays the mortgage, bills, etc.

Here is what I do:

Set aside time to work on the promotion of your book and social media. This can be before you head off to your job, or an hour when you get home. But make it part of your ‘job’ so that those living in the house with you understand you’re still working – not just surfing the net. And then – walk away from the computer!

Lists. Lists. Lists. I keep “To-Do Lists” everywhere. I email them to myself so that I have them at my day job (for those moments I can steal a few minutes at lunch or otherwise). I know bloggers I need to respond to, bookstores I’m reaching out to, and whose book I’m currently reading to write a testimonial. Without that organization, I’d never be able to keep up with it all.

Never stop reading. I read every chance I get. Not only other people’s novels, but the great articles of inspiration and creative tips that are tweeted to me throughout the day.

Keep writing. Even if you have a book out there, write a blog or an article/essay for something on line…but continue that craft. Carve out some time to accomplish this task so that you maintain those skills.

Learn to juggle as well as relax. It is never going to be easy when you are attempting to maintain two careers as well as relationships and LIFE. So don’t get frustrated when something must take precedence over your writing world. It’ll still be there when you get back. Twitter isn’t going away. People can still find your books online. Throw a ball in the air and move on to that pressing matter and then turn to your significant other and take them out to dinner. We must let go and breathe every once in a while.

I'll admit - I'm lucky. My day job is in the creative arts managing an arts center and that environment definitely feeds my creative juices and allows me flexibility that others do not always have. But whatever ‘working writer’ means for you; cut yourself some slack so you don’t get too burnt out on the entire thing.

And as far as saying what it is I do - perhaps someday I'll be able to say "I'm a writer". I'm not sure how many books I have to see published or how many dollars (pennies) I need to receive from book sales to believe I'm deserving of the title...but for now, I'll keep doing what I love to do...

Juggling.

Ladies & germs, welcome to a most excellent piece of writing on what it takes to be a good writer -- from the brain of a a freakin' awesome one. My friend and, this week, partner in crime, RS Guthrie offers his A-side to my B-side -- his half of a joint blog post that we're sharing on our websites. If you want to read the B-side, visit Rob's page at RobOnWriting.com. And if you don't want to read it, drop by Rob's site anyway and get to know him. He's a rare creature in Writerworld -- an ass-kickin' writer with a huge streak of humanity.

All right, enough of the bromance, read this and listen:

***

I know, I know—what’s up with the tricky negative? Well, this is a companion piece to writer Scott Morgan’s brilliant “5 Things Writers Should Do (When They Want To Suck)”—not only was I shooting for witty symmetry between our opposite angled views of the same issue, I also loved the pith of Morgan’s title and decided to suckle right up to it. I figure it’s only plagiarism if my counterpart says so, and he admires me too much to do that. Right, Scott?

Scott??

Best to get on with my own list and hope for my peer’s deep propensity to forgive.

In all seriousness, if you want to suck, please disregard the five suggested truths outlined below. Better yet, go out and do the exact opposite. I’m not saying your work will suck—I’m guaranteeing it. And you may be tempted to think I am pulling a Joe Namath here—allowing my arrogance to coerce me into making a bold prediction (particularly not knowing you, your writing, or anything about the market for which you intend to write). Don’t simply be tempted: know it. The five suggestions below are not complicated, nor are they really anyone’s secret. But I warn you: violate them at your own peril. Or at least the peril of your writing.

(In a ill-disguised knockoff of master David Letterman’s Top Ten lists, I have attempted to order mine from least to most egregious. This prioritization could easily be debated. What cannot be debated is that in doing so I flagrantly  violated my cohort’s fourth rule. Want to see for yourself? Afterward you can click here.)

#5. Read. A lot. If you are going to be a writer, you need to immerse yourself in the trade. The trade, dear readers, equates to the books. Not just those you write, but the entire canon of literature out there. (And yes, using the word literature just now in reference to “all” the books out there absolutely did make my skin crawl—but hopefully you get the point.)

The truth is, a writer can never read enough. The bad along with the good. The ugly along with the pristine. Most people know Shakespeare’s classic adage “learneth from thou mistakeths”. Or was that Monty Python? In any case, we writers can learn as much from other writer’s mistakes as we can from our own. Spend some time in a critique group, reading piles of other aspiring writers’ pieces. You’ll learn some invaluable lessons about what you definitely don’t want to be doing in your own writing (along with some great examples of what you do want to be doing, too).

Imagine a shipbuilder who, despite her amazing talents and potential, locked herself away in a building all of her life and never viewed so much as a single other ship. Unless she was a savant, chances are when she presents her brilliant masterpiece to the world, the last thing it will resemble is a seaworthy ship. They call them industry standards for a reason—you can’t “think outside the box” until you know where the box is.

#4. Write. A lot. Imagine a different shipbuilder who does nothing but watch and admire other builders’ work. One who signs up for every “How to Be the Next Best Ship Seller” seminar on the ‘Net. Such behavior equates to saying “show me the easy way to the money and success, please.” It doesn’t work that way in any other profession and I dare say in the creation of art it is even more crucial to polish your talents by doing what you do.

from ElHogar.org#3.  Show, don’t tell. Fiction writers should be disallowed the usage of adjectives, adverbs, and all dramatic prose for the first ten years of their writing careers. No, wait—twenty. In fact, these elements should be banned altogether—particularly the adverbs. The irony is, the  more elaborate the adverb or adjective, the weaker the writing becomes. Try it. Take the best piece you’ve ever written and throw in a whole gaggle of flashy descriptors. Have a tongue? Make it flailing, tomato-red, and obese. Your hero? How can he be a hero if he’s not devastatingly handsome, magnificently endowed, incredibly hilarious, wickedly smart, and excruciatingly debonair?

Never use a ten dollar word when a ten cent one will do. Seriously. People don’t seethe. They rarely rage. Weeping was a largely eighteenth century activity. Well-written characters hardly ever romp, gnash, prance, bludgeon, abhor, relinquish, fiddle, waddle, or wince. Objects never rocket (unless they are actually rockets). Only explosives explode. And eyes, no matter how angry or venomous, cannot act anything like lasers shooting laser beams.

Oh, and yes—snakes are venomous, but rarely human beings. (Never eyes.)

Don’t worry. A few of these words never killed a damn thing. But if your prose is littered with them? Not good. Not good at all. Venomous, actually.      

#2. Care. Write from the heart (or as my counterpart will tell you, for the jugular). Same difference. And no, doing this does NOT require any of the words from #3. It doesn’t say “write like you care”—you actually need to give a crap about what you are saying. You cannot simply write to sell. You can’t write only because it makes you happy to write, either. Trust me, it doesn’t make anyone else on earth (not related to you) happy to have you write. Not unless what you write makes them care. The reader won’t give two, uh, hoots about your words if they are just ink on white page. And that’s all they’ll ever be if you are writing a story that means nothing to you. A writer will never write anything stronger than the words that come from the depths of the writer.

#1. Create compelling characters. At this point you may be wondering why this necessary truth appears at number one. Don’t. In fact, if you take nothing away from this posting, take away this: no story ever mattered to anyone that contained flat, uninspiring, cookie-cutter characters. You must—read MUST—create characters the reader can root for and about whom they can care. In fact, when you have great characters, faux pas in #5-#3 can sometimes be forgiven by the reader (#2 was intentionally left off—it’s almost impossible to write great characters without the words coming from the heart).

This doesn’t mean you have to give every character who walks onstage a limp or an accent or a funny affectation. Far from it. Some of the most memorable characters are memorable simply because of how human they are. As readers, we love to relate to a character. That also doesn’t mean we want to relate to her prowess as a CPA. (Maybe, if that prowess is juxtaposed against a deep ethical dilemma because she is forced to cook the books in order to pay for her son’s bone marrow transplant.)

You get it. Live inside your characters’ skins. Infuse them with your own loves, fears, dreams, desires, and dilemmas. They need to have depth. Nothing leaves uncreative swampland in its wake like a story littered with shallow characters.

I’ll summarize this way: you can ignore the advice above. I’ll share something with you, however: I learned all of this from other writers who cared enough about my potential to share their experience with me. I didn’t discover these truths on my own. Heck, I don’t always follow them myself—none of us is perfect. But these gemstones come from the most sacred place of all: from mining the successes, failures, and infinite experiences of all the other writers who have come before us. The worst thing we can possibly do is ignore them.

Only contrarians and teenagers ignore the advice of those who have been there before them.

--Leave Rob a comment by clicking the tag below.

Scott Bury is my Canadian alter-ego. My brother from another mother. A journalist, author (of Bones of Earth) and communications pro who owns The Written Word, Scott has a terrific take on what 'Write for the Jugular' means and a direct, no-nonsense style that I love to read.

So we've decided to Wonder-Twins up and guest blog for each other this week. Check out Scott's thoughts on the jugular, below, and make sure to leave him some feedback (here or at his site). 

And be sure to read my guest post on his site, www,WrittenWord.ca, by clicking right here.

What I mean by writing for the jugular

When I read Scott Morgan’s subtitle, “Write for the jugular,” I thought “YES.”

Then I thought “Why couldn’t I have come up with that phrase? Augh!”

It epitomizes my ideal for writing. Great writing, fiction or not, reaches an audience the way a big cat reaches for its prey: no compromise, maximum effect.

To me, writing for the jugular means telling the story. Great writing is active; it moves ahead, pulling the audience helplessly with it.

Action doesn’t mean just violence, car chases and explosions; the story can and should also move ahead emotionally, spiritually and mentally. The focus has to be on things that happen, whether they’re events, motions, words or thoughts. Some people call this “show, don’t tell.” Show, describe what characters feel, say and do.

Ditch the back story

One of the worst mistakes that many new writers make is putting in too much back story. I love the depth of the invented history JRR Tolkien put into The Lord of the Rings, but I understand how it daunts a lot of readers. It’s also the reason the book is three volumes long.

Few writers can get away with this. Write the back story for your own benefit as a writer, but put it in a binder somewhere. Audiences don’t read for your benefit as the writer—they read for their own needs as readers.

Focus on driving the story forward, and fill in the back story only when necessary. Fitzgerald’s early short stories are great examples of this. We don’t know the back story of the Jellybean or why he’s in a particular situation; we just know he’s a jellybean and out of place at a country club party.

How much back story does James Bond have? Almost none. This makes him very mysterious—that’s part of his appeal.

If your audience needs to understand how your character got to a point in the story, put a SHORT flashback at the point where you need it. Not before – I would rather read it when I need to know it, not have to remember details 100 pages later.

Remove excess detail

This is something that I had to learn the hard way. Dashiel Hammet briefly described Sam Spade’s face as a series of Vs, so that he looked like a pleasant blond Satan. The only description of Phil Marlowe that Chandler gives us in — how many? — novels and short stories is that he’s tall and weighs about 190 pounds, and once or twice, women call him handsome. That’s it.

That too old-school for you? Okay, one of my favourite new writers is Rob Guthrie, author of the Clan MacAulay series. Other than having a prosthetic leg, I don’t know what the main character, Bobby Mac, looks like. I don’t know if he has a beard or is totally bald. The story mentions that he’s Scottish; this fact grounds some of the character’s personality and factors into the mystery and back story. But that’s it.

And the back story? There are a couple of flashbacks and a brief description of a long-fought feud, but it’s very brief.

Every writer should have his or her own style. If you like description, go for it. I describe my characters and settings in some detail because the setting is a time very different from our own.

Readers can feel bogged down by long explanations of family or political history. Don’t try to impress readers with your gift for language. Get on with the story. Include descriptions and details only when they’re necessary to getting the point across. What does it matter if there’s an ashtray in the Director’s office? Mention it only if one character hits another with it.

I am always impressed by a book or a movie where the climax depends on some detail that seemed unimportant when it was first introduced. For example, look at the best-seller, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. It begins with a problem that lands the hero in jail (goes for the jugular). A small detail near the beginning of the story becomes the point that explains how a famous investigative journalist was tricked, and also ties up one of the major loose ends of the novel.

I use this technique in my own novel, The Bones of the Earth. See if you can spot it.

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo is not a great book, but I think one of the reasons it has been as successful as it has is that the story goes for the jugular. Readers don’t care about the nuances of voice or vocabulary that commercial publishers and agents do. Readers want a story that grabs them and pulls them along.

To me, writing for the jugular means telling the story. Bring out your characters’ inner demons through their actions.

I didn't invent writing for the jugular. I merely subscribe to its newsletter. Long before me, writers threw convention to the wind and told us in no uncertain terms, through the characters they created, that they don't give so much as half an acorn whether we like them or not.

If you need to find the jugular, these 6 fictional characters can point you in the right direction (and then leave you in a crappy neighborhood).

1&2: John & Ella Robina, The Leisure Seeker, by Michael Zadoorian 

Proving you're never too old to get out of Detroit, octogenarians John and Ella Robina strap on an RV and ride west to Disneyland, against all medical and familial advice. Sure there's death approaching with every RPM, but then there's this line: “Why does the world have to destroy anything that doesn't fit in? We still can't figure out that this is the most important reason to love something.” 

 That's why we love Sean Connery

The Robinas don't give a damn because they have no reason to. And this is a surprisingly romantic tale that will inspire your middle finger in ways you can't yet imagine.

3: Hester Prynne, The Scarlet Letter, by Nathaniel Hawthorne.

Who doesn't love sluts? Even the Puritans made allowances for the occasional bit of ankle. And in a moment of monumental insight, they of the awesome Thanksgiving costume thought they'd teach town tart Hester Prynne a lesson in shame by strapping her into something black, emblazoned with a big red A.

 Puritans rock!

Hester's response? 'Biteth me!' Hester is so defiantly proud of her A (and the T on which she wears it) that she actually changes Puritan women's attitudes toward her and her reckless ankles. That's like convincing Tony Danza not to punch you out at the airport.

Aww. he's so sweet!

Seriously, don't tell him I said that.

4: Jo, Little Women, by Louisa May Alcott.

Who doesn't love teenage girls? Especially the ones who set their clothes on fire?

 That's just good stuff

Josephine March Bhaer is so tomboyish, people actually call her by a boy's name, Jo. And yeah, that's the Victorian Era's way of "suggesting" something about Jo, but, really, Jo's boyishness is the highest form of Victorian-Era rebellion. Young ladies were supposed to be young ladies, all frilly and genteel and valuable only as much as they appealed to creepy old men who liked hang out with teenage girls.

Thank God THAT doesn't happen anymore

Jo defies every form of convention, life gently kicks the shit out of her, and she manages to become a little woman.

 Just don't screw around with her sister

5: Adam, Godflesh, by Brian Hodge 

OK, so you have to be at least 18 (and in some states 21) to read anything past the first paragraph in this short story, but since Brian Hodge wrote it, it's worth wishing your youth away to get to the point where you can dive in with a rubber suit and a can of disinfectant.

This story of Ellen, quixotic bookstore worker by day/Sasha Grey by night, introduces a seductively repulsive Adam, who convinces Ellen that it's a totally awesome idea to trade a little of herself for the promise of ever-greater … relief. When Ellen finds Adam, he's legless, in his wheelchair, in an alley, doing his best Pee-Wee Herman, without a care in the world. And then shit gets kinky.

Now, remember – I'm not here to tell you what you'll like. I'm here to tell you who doesn't give a flying expletive what you'd think of them. And Adam makes Brian Kinney look like an attention-starved whore.

Oh wait, he is ...

But you get the point.

6: Victor Frankenstein, Frankenstein, by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley.

Kids love to stitch people together.

 See?

We all have Victor Frankenstein, the original mad scientist, to thank. Victor doesn't just not care what you and I think, he doesn't care what God thinks! And in his pursuit of mad scientistry, Victor Frankenstein creates life! And then does what any red-blooded man would do – he ignores the consequences. But who cares, right? All he was trying to do was build a man, not be all "Daddy" up in his castle.

Me? I'm looking for the mad scientist who can squeeze into this:

Write for the Jugular, folks.

Want more out of WriteHook? Try:

Stop Being Afraid of Your Writing

5&5: 10 Short Pieces You Really Need To Read

Bad Mojo, Part 2: Unsung Villains In Fiction